Page 10 of Stuck With the Billionaire Grump

Luckily, however, Mermaid Shores is turning out to be a decently pleasant little town. If I avoid the pier and the public beach area and most of Main Street, that is.

Is Lucy vacationing here, too?

Does shelivehere?

I don’t remember much from that summer, least of all the various personal details we were forced to share during icebreaker activities and group therapy.

I let out a snort of laughter. Divorce camp. Also known as Camp Hannefort, located just beyond Amish country in rural Pennsylvania. It’s where kids of all ages can be sent for eight entire weeks while their divorced parents deal with their messy, complicated lives.

I was seventeen, just about to start my senior year of high school, when my parents decided it was best for me to get out of their hair for the summer. I didn’t even bother protesting. Daphne Shay and Laurence Danvers had the sort of relationship that was constantly talked about, not only because of my mother’s fame but also because my father is a celebrated movie producer.Daphne and Larry, the tabloids called them.A star-studded romance.

Yeah, right. Growing up, my parents hardly ever saw each other. They might have worked in the same industry, but Dad was always traveling to shoot on location all over the world, and Mom spent more time in Hollywood’s various studios than she did at home. When they were in the same room, they bickeredconstantly. I may have been a kid, but I saw the divorce coming from miles away. I saw the media storm that would come with it, too.

So, when my father suggested that I spend the summer in the middle of nowhere on the other side of the country, I agreed. Anything to avoid the paparazzi who were posted up outside the house in LA, desperate to feed the flames of the summer’s most dramatic breakup.

Camp Hannefort wasn’t that bad. It was definitely rustic, and there were more mosquitoes and black flies than I’d ever like to deal with again in my life, but there was electricity and running water and decent food. Set on Lake Arthur, there was also swimming and kayaking and paddle-boarding. Plus, a horse farm nearby, which is how I discovered that I actually enjoyed trail riding. Horses were a lot easier to deal with than people, after all.

Kids as young as ten were sent there for the summer, but I usually only saw people in my own age group. And when they weren’t entertaining us with enough outdoor activities to keep us distracted from the turmoil at home, we attended group therapy sessions and private counseling. They encouraged us to keep a journal for the duration of our eight-week stay and told us it was important to express ourselves—even the negative stuff. Some kids got pretty angry with it, creating oddly disturbing paintings during our arts and crafts time or hiking deep into the woods just to let out furious screams.

For the most part, I kept to myself. I managed to get absorbed into a decent circle of friends in my cabin and earned a reputation for being likable simply because I didn’t speak much.

But, Lucy… She was the star of the show at Camp Hannefort. Pretty, popular, and unshakably positive, everyone adored her. Most of the guys had huge crushes on her. Most of the girls were constantly vying for her attention. She would always speak upin group therapy about how important it was tostay positiveandlook on the bright side of thingsandthe sun will come out tomorrow.Ugh.

She was infuriating. And it was even more annoying that I seemed to be the only one immune to her charms. Everyone else thought she was the sweetest little thing. Or rather, notlittle, considering she was—and still is—quite tall for her gender. Even the staff were under her spell, cooing over the pink ribbons that she braided into her hair and praising her incurably optimistic outlook on life.

My mouth twisted into a frown, I turn down the stone walkway leading to the back door of my cottage. It’s a tiny place, painted sky blue with white shutters, but it has private beach access and the neighbors are partially obscured thanks to the pine trees, beach grass, and sand dunes.

I haven’t thought about Camp Hannefort in years. Idefinitelytried to avoid thinking about the last night of those tumultuous eight weeks, at all costs. Lucy—whatever her last name is—became a distant memory soon enough. I never thought I’d see her again.

But, no matter how many times I replay that awkward moment on the street, there’s no denying that it was her.

Best case scenario: she didn’t recognize me at all. Nor did she realize that I recognized her instantly. With any luck, she has absolutely nothing to do with this wedding and I can avoid running into her for the next few days until it’s time to leave again.

I really don’t want to relive the past. Especially because Lucy is the one person in this world who has seen me at my most vulnerable and pathetic.

Taking a deep breath, I step inside the cottage and kick off my shoes. The wedding festivities begin this evening, but I still have several hours to myself before I have to socialize. Rather thanrisk stumbling into any more familiar faces, I decide to ignore the group chat that Harry looped me into, where a bunch of Elijah’s closest acquaintances are planning to meet on the beach this afternoon.

I need to be alone. I need to distract myself.

Heading over to my suitcase, which is neatly unpacked into the bureau, I grab my laptop out of its carrying bag and bring it over to the creaky little table in the corner of the room. There’s a massive window beside it that overlooks the sandy-yet-grassy path between the dunes leading down to the grayish Atlantic. The coast is so much rougher here than it is back home, and I honestly really like it. There’s something raw and authentic about it. Something beautiful, yet unforgiving.

But I’m not going to spend the next several hours admiring the view. I brought my computer for a reason. I’m going to work on some code I started writing on the plane. That’ll pass the time nicely, and it’ll require just enough mental energy to help me forget about Lucy.

At least, for the most part.

***

[Twelve Years Ago]

The girl across the table from me won’t stop talking. I’m tempted to think it’s because she’s obsessed with the sound of her own voice, but the fact of the matter is that the reason she won’t shut up is simply because everyone keeps begging for her attention.

It’s embarrassing to watch, really. The way the boysandthe girls smile and bat their lashes at her, complimenting the ribbon in her hair or the dangly strawberry earrings in her lobes. They fawn over her the way that otherwise respectable people tend to trip over themselves when my mother is around.

If I could move to a different table, I would. Unfortunately, I was told that I can’t sit in solitude at one of the empty tables in the corner of the room today. That’s my so-called challenge to overcome on this cloudy, humid Tuesday in July.

It’s nauseating.

You should participate more, Theo,Dr. Sans said in our private session earlier this morning.I’m concerned that you’re isolating yourself.

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